


Don't Touch!

by timeisntreal



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, baby!Damian, barista!jason au, batfamily, bruce is dad age and alfred's age is ambiguous. he's immortal, it isn't explicitly here but tim is trans, this is part of the au but like a separate thing from my previous fic, tim is 13yo damian is 4yo jason is 16yo and dick is 19yo thereabouts, tim is only average at art bc of this one class he took
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:59:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5004004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeisntreal/pseuds/timeisntreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim decided to take art as an elective in high school and needs a subject for a still-life project. The beginning of Damian's hate for Timmy Drake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Touch!

**Author's Note:**

> Before Bruce is like "lmao byebye Jason," in this barista!jason au I started but will never finish. Thank you jaysontodds for editing this and helping me out with headcanons and ages and all that junk. Hope y'all enjoy some baby/toddler Damian :')

Tim was thirteen and just started high school. Tim was required to take certain subjects and chose to take art as an elective that year. Three months into the school year, Tim thought he should have taken engineering instead.

Damian was four years old and he was able to articulate most of his thoughts, needs, and wants verbally.  He had a slight lisp as well. He had boundless imagination, and needed the space to express himself. He also needed subjects.

The toddler had a chest in his room filled with a plethora of toys he received throughout his first year and a half with his father. The toys in the chest were only used for play and rough-housing. The boy had a set of toys outside of the chest. Those were among the rapidly filling bookshelf in his room. He adored those toys—played with them occasionally—and respected them by making sure they were clean and out in the open for everyone to see. There was only one toy that Damian kept around him at all times. Almost all times.

This particular toy was a stuffed black bat, a Beanie Baby. It was one of the first toys his father gave him on his first Christmas with the family. He carried it with him everywhere he went—if permitted. He would not let it out of his sight, most of the time.

One fateful day, while Damian was in private preschool, Tim’s high school let the students out early. His art teacher assigned a project in which the students needed to create a still-life piece. Tim could have taken any inanimate object in the manor. There was fruit in a basket and flower vases throughout the manor; he could have even drawn one of the cars in the garage. But the teen wanted to draw something more complicated than an apple and simpler than a Porsche.

Then he remembered. Damian always had that toy with him, the stuffed bat. Tim and Alfred were the only ones currently home. Tim made his way to his younger brother’s room, wondering if the toddler brought the toy with him to school. Bruce was trying to wean the toy off of his youngest son, so Tim hoped it wasn’t with him.

He entered the room and found the bat on the nightstand. Alfred probably placed it there after retrieving it from the car after dropping Damian off at school. Tim taking the Beanie Baby, promising himself he would return it to the room before Damian noticed.

Later that afternoon, Tim was in the studio, sketching his still-life project when Damian came home. Jason picked the boy up from daycare (Bruce _hated_ putting Damian there, but Tim couldn’t drive yet, Dick was away at college, Alfred had to watch the manor, and Bruce was usually swamped with work.  Only renowned Bruce Wayne could manage to be late to more than enough meetings and using up most of his sick days already). Jason went to help Alfred prepare for dinner, and Damian went to fetch his coloring books from his room.

Suddenly, Jason and Alfred heard the child crying. Damian only cried on certain occasions: saying “bye-bye” to the eldest brother, saying “bye-bye” to his mother, and when he cannot find his Bat. The two looked at each other in the kitchen and Jason quickly washed his hands before rushing to Damian.

The door was still open when he reached the toddler’s room. Damian was on the floor wailing, cheeks red and face wet. He approached Damian and crouched down, put a hand on the boy’s back and rubbed it soothingly.

“Damian, shh, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” Jason asked, his voice going to the soft tone that was only reserved for the youngest of the family.

The boy hiccupped and sniffled, looked at Jason, and cried harder. Jason frowned slightly, wishing Dick was home. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” he tried.

“Edga’!” Damian cried. He still had difficulty  pronouncing English ‘r’ sounds.

“Edgar?” Jason looked around for the stuffed bat. Dick asked Damian what the name was going to be for the toy because naming something makes it meaningful, and Damian said something that sounded like “Edgar,” so the name stuck.

The toy wasn’t within sight. He searched the toy chest in case it was placed in there. It was not inside. Jason swore. Damian cried louder when Jason came back empty-handed. He picked up his brother, “Don’t worry, kiddo,” he said. “We’ll find him.”

Meanwhile, Tim was blasting Mindless Self Indulgence in his ears as he worked. The piece was going to be an acrylic painting, he decided. He did not hear Damian crying or Jason or even Bruce when he came home. When Jason tapped his shoulder, he accidentally smeared blue paint on Jason’s arm.

“Jesus, you scared me,” Tim breathed out, taking an earbud out of his ear and pausing his playlist.

“Can you hear anything when those are in your ears?” Jason pursed his lips, holding his painted arm away from his clothes.

Tim shrugged. “What do you want?”

“Dinner’s ready, jackass,” Jason looked around the room.

Tim raised a brow. “And?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that Damian’s been crying for like a full hour because his favorite toy’s missing. Have you seen it?”

“No,” Tim impulsively lied. The toy was obscured from view behind Tim’s stand-up canvas.

“Alright. Thanks for nothing.” Jason huffed out, crossing his arms as he looked back down at Tim. “But let me know if you do find it. He’s barely eating whatever gross vegetarian meal Alfred made for him.” Jason turning to leave, waving his arm around in an attempt to dry it faster.

“Will do,” Tim watched as Jason left the room. When he left, he cleaned himself up and at least closed the paint tubes and dumped out the paint water. He made sure his hands were completely clean before touching the bat. He only hoped Damian would be happy to have his toy back and not retaliate.

Bruce was speaking to Alfred about work and Jason coaxing Damian into eating his food. Tim heard him say, “Eat it before it gets cold, brat,” even though it was likely the food was already cold.

Alfred noticed him first and paused whatever he was telling Bruce to say, “Oh. How nice of you to finally join us, Master Tim,” he said in his usual stoic tone, though everyone in the room could catch the hint of sass.

“Yeah. Hi,” Tim said awkwardly. Walking with his hands behind his back and clearly holding something. Damian was staring petulantly—it seemed like he wanted to burn the food before him with his gaze. His face was still red, as well as his eyes. Jason looked at him with a raised brow. Bruce’s look was identical to Jason’s as he approached the table.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand and quickly glanced at the walls in the room when he was next to Damian, who was still glaring at his food. “Damian?” he called. Damian huffed. His arms and legs were crossed (Damian, no feet on the chairs!). Tim sighed.

“Hey, I uh, heard you were looking for this,” Tim held Edgar out in front of him.

Damian turned and his eyes immediately sparkled with joy. “Edga’!” he shouted; Jason winced. He almost fell out of his chair reaching out for his beloved Edgar and held him tightly to his chest. Bruce smiled slightly, and Alfred looked relieved. However, that joy was short-lived as Damian’s face morphed back into a pout. “Why do _you_ have him?!” the toddler yelled.

“Inside voices, Master Damian,” Alfred interjected.

“I, uh…” Tim glanced at the walls again, feeling out of place. He could feel Jason and Bruce’s expecting gazes boring into his body, trying to get him to answer with a look. It worked.

Tim tried looking at Damian in the eye, glancing at his feet every few words, “I, well, I was using it as a model—for an art project, see—I needed to draw or paint still-life, and I wanted to do something a bit more complex than, oh, an apple, and I think everyone’s going to draw a vase, so I didn’t want to draw a plain ol’ vase,” Tim rambled.

“So you used Edgar,” Jason concluded, giving Tim a pointed look.

“Well, yeah,” Tim rubbed his neck again.

“You just took it from his room and didn’t put it back?”

“I was _going to_ when I was done sketching it!”

“I walked in on you painting the thing, which clearly is _not_ _sketching_ , Tim,”

“I, you know how meticulous art can be Jason—”

“I _hate_ you!” Damian yelled above his arguing brothers. Bruce raised his eyebrows, shocked. Alfred had a similar expression. Jason gave a low whistle. “You’ve done it now, Timmy,” he smirked.

Tim looked as surprised as the everyone else in the room, sans Damian. Damian’s face was red for a whole new reason, and it seemed he held the bat even closer to his body. “I _hate_ you, Dwake! You a' not allowed near Edga’ eva' again!” he was still shouting, though it sounded less threatening with his lisp. Damian shifted back to his food as he took his fork and stabbed a carrot roughly. Hell hath no fury like a scorned four year old, it seemed.

“And you a’h not allowed to touch this! Or anything!” Damian holding up the carrot. “This is mine! Can’t touch!” He huffed, eating it right off the fork since hunger was getting the better of him.

Jason couldn’t help but laugh, though it sounded more like a cackle as it echoed through the manor. Alfred looked vaguely amused, while Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head.

Tim’s brows were creased with disbelief. He was sort of at a loss for words. What do you even say to that?

“Wow, you’ve _really_ done it, Timbo!” Jason grinned, though there was nothing friendly about it as he wiped his eyes since tears of laughter were beginning to form.

“Shut up, Jason,” Tim sighed. “Okay. I get it Damian. I’m sorry. I won’t touch him ever again, I promise,” Holding up his pinky towards Damian. The toddler backing away from the finger as if it had a repulsive bug on it. “Pinky swear?” Tim asked, mimicking something Dick would do. He wondered if it would have the same effect on Damian.

Damian, like a tentative kitten, seemed to analyze Tim’s face, then his fingers. It was like he was assessing whether the finger was safe to touch or not. Damian flashed an evil grin for a second before he opened his mouth and bit right down on his finger.  Jason’s howl of laughter mixed with Tim’s yelp of pain as he pulled his finger back and away from baby teeth that felt a hell of a lot sharper than they had a right to be.


End file.
